Fallout: Manhunt
by eaglescorch
Summary: When New Vegas is threatened by an enemy nation, a small team of rebels working on the inside must work to prevent a catastrophe.
1. Bleeding Eyes and Stale Bread

Hello and before anyone thinks this is my next big Fallout Project, it isn't. It's a short story I've had benched for some time. Truth is that this story is pretty much a piece I cut from Last Revolution and reworked so I could make it independent, and yes it is still the Supremacy One universe. Hope you enjoy, I may use these characters again if people like them.

* * *

Fallout: Manhunt

Chapter 1

Bleeding Eyes and Stale Bread

Two Months after the Last Revolution

In the Revolutionist Federation, night was cold and tainted with the stench of fresh blood and rotting corpses, an early morning meal for the crows. Days were long and scolding in the desert sun of the nuclear wastes, a crisp layer of ash covered the sandy landscape and chipped remains of once great mountains. It was a scene that begged for some color to wash over it, some form of emotion, even a negative one. Then again it had plenty of bad blood and corrupt feelings, being the land that it was. Not so long ago it was the young democracy known as the New California Republic, now thanks to the Courier and his war against the extremist faction known as Supremacy One, it was a nation ravaged by civil war and the oppressive heel of a cruel and soulless regime.

In the capital city of Leviathan took the title of being a wasteland in a whole other league. It's building were worn down and chipped away at with bullets, rockets, and lasers. the city was a slum and a nightmarish sight to behold, as though all human prejudices were focused on one point in the world. The streets were lined with rotting bodies and feasting crows, building's burned with a haunting orange flame that let clouds of hollow and black smoke into the early gloom of the dusk skies, the smell of burning nickel in the air as the people cowered in back alleys and worn down buildings, hoping to catch a rat for their next meal. It was like the first weeks after the Great War all over again.

In one of the rundown buildings, a small tavern had been opened, once for soldiers of the Republic, now for the common folk who were overlooked by the federation. Stories would circle the bar and the tables of the renewed offensive by the Confederacy to topple the Revolutionist Regime and place a more functioning government back in control. This task was made infinitely more easily now that the Major, the creul leader of the regime, was dead. The command hierarchy was tearing itself apart, all loyalties were forfeit and the smart man got out while he could. The Confederate Liberation Efforts were swift and brutal, rarely taking military prisoners except when they were high-value targets, and granting the civilian populous medical supplies and food as well as a detachment of occupying forces to support a lasting peace.

At a poker table in the tavern a game of Texas Hold'em was under way. The cards on the table were a 3 of Hearts, a 5 of Hearts, a 6 of hearts, and a Queen of Diamonds. The faded green mat on the table was littered with bottles of flat beer and stale bread, the only thing most people could find for food and drink around these parts.

Five men sat around the table, one of them former NCR military personnel, one of them a farmer, two of them scavengers, and one fellow in a black leather jacket who didn't speak other than to announce his hand. The place was dimly lit so no once could really see the others faces other than a blurry outline. Added a bit of an edge to the game as being able to tell if someone was bluffing mostly depends on seeing them or not.

"I'll call five." The farmer said, throwing a hand full of caps into the pot. His voice sounded confident, his expression slightly gleeful. He was an rugged man, late fifties with a wrinkled face and wise eyes.

One of the scavengers looked at that with suspicion. "Hmm." He mumbled, he looked under his flipped over cards and glanced at the table. "I fold." He said, throwing the hand into the pot with deliberate intent. The pot currently had a modest 34 caps, which by federation standards was enough to be considered upper-class.

The fifth man stayed silent, before throwing another ten caps into the pot. The soldier looked at him with surprise. "Your risking a lot here buddy. You don't expect the Confederate army to roll through any time soon do you?" He laughed as he threw down another four caps on top of calling the silent man's ten, bringing the total pot up to 48 caps. He was getting very drunk very quickly with his beer.

"I heard they're heading to Lilith." Said the second scavenger. "Wipe away the last remnants of the Main Revolutionist Army there and at Vichy, then march towards the coast. Hopefully they won't bypass us on the way." He placed eight caps in, bringing the total pot to 56. "I've had just about enough of this shit."

The silent man in the jacket took this as a que to begin speaking. "I wouldn't put it past the Confederacy." He said, a gruff and rather rugged voice with a tribal accent. "Bypassing the city may be a good idea, they already control northern California, and if they can surround Leviathan and blockade the roads out, then the remaining Revolutionists would be forced to surrender or be wiped out. Seeing as though they care about their own safety more than anyone elses, they are probably more happy with the first option."

The scavenger nodded but skeptically. "I doubt either is preferable to them. They'll stand trial anyway and knowing the Confederate's policies, they'll probably exit those trials down the barrel of a cannon or hanging from a rope." He swiftly realized that he had to deal, and placed the river on the table: A Six of Spades.

"I think it's all bullshit." The soldier interjected, now drunk off his ass. "The Courier's a cowardly, two-faced bastard with an agenda. Those stories about his forces handing out medical supplies and aid, they're not true, I bet he's laughing at our woes and burning down our towns as we speak."

"Or what's left of them." The farmer added, but not with any sense of resentment. The hand passed around the table and it came down to just the not-so silent jacket man and the drunken soldier.

"Well I think I've got you beat." He said, arrogantly. He revealed his hand: Two Pair, Queens and Threes. "Beat that, you piss drinker." He continued to insult the silent men, showing that even flat beer is still beer.

The silent man seemed to take offense to that. "You know there's two things you never should do." He started, slowly revealing his hand. "One, never say something..." He flipped his hand over and revealed it to the table: 2 and 4 of hearts, giving him a straight flush. "...that you'll regret." The man reached out and took the pot, placing the caps into a pouch on his belt, before reaching for something else holstered to his belt. "And two." He drew a Hunting Revolver from his belt and aimed it at the soldier's head, sobering him up instantly. "Never start a fight you can't win."

The soldier panicked, the federation confiscated civilian weaponry when they began to take command, and even if he had it he suspected the man could fire first. The man walked into the light, revealing a tanned face to add to the leather jacket. His hair was bedraggled and colored with a salty tint, along with a thick beard. His eyes were blue and angry while his face echoed with a look of frustration.

"Look, I didn't mean anything by it. Please, just don't shoot me!" He begged with fear.

The man in the jacket smiled. "I could be convinced to do that, if you answer a question of mine." He declared.

"Sure. Anything." The soldier replied, shivering. The man in the jacket smiled, walking even more into dim light, revealing a Sparrow tattooed on his arm, with a name branded underneath it, branded into the flesh in the language of a culture who had long since perished.

Icarus.

* * *

Elsewhere in the city, in a large three-story military checkpoint fashioned from old sheets of metal and a structure of wood, a man by the name of Frank Beach was being tortured viciously by several members of the Revolutionist Federation Military, led by Chief Inspector Reed Cray, feared leader of the Empty Hearts, the secret police of the Revolutionist Federation. He was a middle-aged man, late forties and balding, but he lived up to his reputation. He held Frank in electrified chains that branded the skin with heavy burns, cutting and filling the man with pain.

"We can do this for the rest of your life, Mr. Beach. I've got the time." He started, pressing a button on the console that controlled the room he was in. All you have to do to save yourself is tell me the names of your Falcons and the location of your base then your suffering will end. He seemed to enjoy watching Frank suffer.

"Fuck you." He weakly said to him.

"Shame. You just can't seem to grasp that you can't escape." He pressed another button on the console and vents remotely opened, flooding the room with heat. Slowly, the room caught fire and Franks felt his chains expand and turn a golden orange as they branded his skin with ghastly burns in the shape of chains.

"Let's see how long you last against the fires of hell before you melt away." His gloating and tyrannical voice was silenced moments later when the sound of gunfire echoed from the hallway behind them. Cray turned around with his two guards and took a look at the iron doors and raised there weapons in preparation. Seconds passed and nothing but silence then out of the blue, a smoke grenade flooded the room with an orange smoke. At first they thought nothing of it, then they began to choke and cough blood with a crisp and blood curduling shreik.

Whoever was on the otherside had thrown a powerful grenade filled with Agent Orange.

Cray's guards were dead in a few minutes, but Cray was able to hold on to see the attacker enter the room with a Hazmat Suit on. He barely had time to react when a bullet raced through the chemical and into Cray's bleeding eyes. In a second his head exploded into fountain of blood, spraying into the glass window and door that separated them from Beach. It dripped slowly down the glass as air filters kicked in and expelled the chemical from the room, funneling it into the empty and dried up sewers.

The assailant walked forward and turned off the torture room, and was able to flood the room with freezing air to cool the chains and make them fragile and weak. Beach broke free of the restraints a few minutes later, his beaten and burned body slowly climbing to his feet. He looked at his rescuer, who slowly opened the door to the room.

Beach struggled to move towards his rescuer but he was able to express his gratitiude. "Thank you." Frank stated, cautious but grateful. Beach was a young but battered man. His face was absolutely covered in scars, to the point where there was not a hair left on his head except for a thin brown-haired beard. His head was shaved and it was unlikely any hair would grow back at this point. The branding of chains decorated his near naked body, save for some torn up cargo shorts. He was muscular, heavy fisted, but seemed like a friendly enough fellow, especially seeing what just happened to him.

"Don't mention it." The rescuer replied. "I'm serious. No one must know I was here."

"Okay..." He responded, slightly confused and holding out the last syllable. He walked out of the room with his rescuer and looked over the body of Cray, his disdain and contempt very clear in his face. He picked up Cray's Hatchet, his signature torture device, and began taking swings at the corpse, muttering curses and anger as he did. He stopped after a few moments and holstered the Hatchet, keeping it as a trophy. He looted a suit of Reinforced Metal Armor and a matching helmet from a nearby guard, along with a .44 Magnum Pistol, some ammo, three stimpaks, six sticks of dynamite, and a straight razor.

As he strapped on the last boot, the assailant spoke again. "You need to find your Falcons and send them to cut off the Confederate Army at the town of Oswald. Tell them to avoid Lilith and move straight towards Leviathan. The Revolutionist Army is attempting to march them into a trap."

"What kind of trap?" He asked, eager to end the Federation. Beach was leader of the Falcons, a Resistance Movement that had long been attempting to oust the Revolutionists from power.

The Federation has several atomic weapons. "One is primed to detonate at Lilith and two long-range missiles are in silos on the outskirts of the east gate." Those words drove fear and terror into the heart of the resistance leader. "Now you understand what must be done. Prevent the Revolutionist Federation from using these weapons." Beach nodded, eager to end the threat posed by the federation it's reign of terro. He was more then ready to leave but before he could exit the room, he was cut off yet again.

"You will not join them." The rescuer stopped him and handed him some papers and a photo. "Have your Falcons deliver these to the main bulk of the army, it should be proof enough to make them turn away."

Beach was skeptical of this whole thing, he was being ordered around by someone he had never met before, who knew more than a normal person in this Federation should ever know. "And what am I suppose to do?" Beach asked. The rescuer pointed at the photo. "You need to disarm the missiles here in Leviathan. That man should be all the help you'll need."

"He once called himself Xander Nicholas. Now he goes by the name Icarus."


	2. Hellscape

Just a point I'd like to make. Do I think this story is going to be as good as Last Revolution? No. Do I think many people are going to read it? No. I have very little faith in this, but I've stalled all together on Endeavor, so this is all I can really do.

Sorry about this being a bit of a pessimistic start. Here's the story.

* * *

Oddliver: Well, it's not going to be very big in terms of length and as I've said I've stalled on Endeavor. Writing's become a routine of mine, so I figure why not get this out? Thank you for the response.

Chazzen01: I noticed, I don't intend to have that problem be consistent, just starting with some newer characters so it will be a little tough at the beginning.

Exile037: Thank you. I thought of it while I was writing Last Revolution and moved it over to here.

* * *

Chapter 2

Hellscape

Leviathan East Gate

Under the veil of the night that followed the next day, Xander, or Icarus as he now called himself, entered the dirt trail streets of the Leviathan city square, Revolver ready, pistol aimed. The soldier had told him of a main patrol route in and out of the city, convoys entering and exiting the city with some suspicious looking cargo on vehicles stolen from the Confederates. Lead-lined titanium crates often would exit the city, no doubt containing radioactive materials, and those same crates would then reënter the city the next morning and drop of suspicious looking barrels at the merchants base.

Xander couldn't see the point to this. The only thing outside in the desert was an abandoned radar station about three or four miles east and it had ceased to work some time earlier. His thoughts were interrupted when the sound of marching entered his ears, booming with force and occasionally being broken up by gunfire. There was a city-wide curfew in place that authorized the execution of civilians if they were caught outside at night. Not that the Revolutionists ever needed a reason.

A patrol was passing; three men dressed in all forms of Raider Armor and welding Hunting Rifles and .32 Revolvers scanned the streets with there eyes, searching for anyone they could get a kick out of shooting. They came close to the alley he was hiding in, possibly smelling his dirty black jacket and rusted iron knife. They drew close, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestone littered dirt path. For one instant, a single Revolutionist looked into the alley, then was pulled into the black. There was the sick cracking of a leg being snapped by a firm boot before a knife was drive through the top of his skull and through the brain. Death was immediate but it was not the same for the two others. One of them attempted get off a shot before his throat was slit in a gush of red, and as he fell, he slashed his wrists, leaving him to bleed on the path to the gate. His revolver flew from his belt and was caught mid-air by Xander, who fired a bullet clear through the head of the final guard, sending fragments of bloody bones into the street before the body fell backwards and cracked its head open, painting the streets all different shades of red.

Xander examined the carnage with a look of disgust. "Pathetic." He grumbled, his voice kept low and his tone croaked from several months of planning and hunting. He was so close to his target that he could almost taste his enemies blood on his tounge, like a wolf after a fresh kill. There were footsteps from behind him and he turned on a dime with the revolver to fire, only to discover he was aiming at a child. The child was a young boy, looking sickly and frail, his skin clinging to his bones like a butterfly clinging to a blade of grass in the wind. He was starved, pained, and possibly ill from what Xander saw.

"Are... Are they dead?" He asked, shaking and shivering in nothing more then a few torn rags he was using for clothes.

Xander realized that the boy was stuttering in his speech because he still had the revolver. He tossed it into the street and kneeled to the boy. "Yes. They're dead." He said.

The boy shuffled by him and looked at the bodies. "Good." He spat on the bodies with a sneer, then went into a coughing fit.

Xander grabbed the boy before he fell over from the pain. The boy was only about 6, no older than Xander was when his home was destroyed. He still remembered it, the flames and the smoke rising into the air as men dressed in crimson under the flag of the Bull marched in. They murdered his mother, they murdered his friends, and he hated them for it. Now he realized that the Legion acted out of conviction and belief, something he could respect, but these Revolutionists were nothing more than thugs and murderers, acting on nothing more than animatistic instincts and pleasure.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his concern genuine.

"Yeah." He said. "I'm fine mister, it's just a snivel." The boy tried to seem confident in the face of what had just happened.

"I doubt that." He replied. "What's your name?" He asked, the boy's state making him fear the worst.

"Liam." He replied. "Liam Daniels."

That name rang a bell to Xander. "Where are your parents?"

Liam began to tear up a little. "They're dead." The boy declared. "My mother died when I was three, radiation poisoning. My father..." His voice turned from sadness to resentment. "I hope he's dead too. He abandoned us when I was three."

Xander had feared that was the case but he didn't say why to the boy. "Who takes care of you?" The boy looked up at him with a judgemental stare, telling him the answer right there. He was alone, the boy had learned to survive on his own.

"When was the last time you had food?" Xander asked. Liam's eyes drifted. He couldn't even remember the sensation of eating anything other than scraps of a dead rat. Xander reached into his jacket pocket, pulling forth some dirty water and Cram. "Take these. Eat up."

Without hesitation, Liam almost swallowed them both whole, containers and all. He seemed to perk up a little after that. "Thank you mister..."

"Icarus." Xander declared, using his alias rather than his real name. "They call me Icarus."

"Thank you Icarus." Liam finally finished, trying to sport a small smile in the grey gloom of the city. Xander looked out from the alley again as Liam finished off the Cram. He saw one of the vehicles carrying the Lead-Lined Crates drive off. Helping Liam robbed Xander of the opportunity to board one of them.

He looked back at Liam. "Do you live somewhere?" He asked the boy.

Liam looked up at him. "Not really." He replied. "There is this one place. A place where I can see all and stay out of sight at the same time." Xander had to admire the boy's intelligence for his age.

"Can you get there by yourself?" Xander asked, knowing they would both want to get off the streets. It was only about 10:00, the night was still early, and if the Revolutionists came looking for the patrol, they would both have a bigger problem on their hands.

"No." He replied, innocently. "It's on the other side of town, near Caul Square."

Xander had feared that was the case but there would be regiments returning from nighttime patrols in only a few minutes. To give the Federation credit, they did hold their own territories with a literal iron fist. They didn't waste anything when it came to their own security. Not civilian security, literally their own security.

"I'll help you get there." Xander finally said to the boy.

Liam looked up with surprise. "Really?" He asked eager to leave this side of town.

Xander nodded. "Follow me and be as quiet as possible." Xander began to creep along the dry and dull alley of the shanty city, clinging to the walls alongside Liam. They reached the other end of the alley and after quickly peeking out into the street to see if a patrol was passing, they dashed across the street to another alley. The direct route to Caul square, the center of the city, was patrolled heavily and would be a suicide run if they tried to use it. They repeated this pattern of sneaking and dashing for another fifteen minutes before they came across a rather troubling obstacle.

They had just crossed to another alley. The city was laid out in a sort of half circle pattern, so even Caul Square was technically a circle, and they were about to peek out into the street when Xander had to pull Liam back into the alley.

He looked shaken. "What... What is that thing, Icarus?" He asked, his voice shivering along with his body as he curled up in hiding.

Xander looked back out into the street and looked at what was looming not ten feet away. It was a giant mech, at least twenty feet tall, which made Xander wonder how they had got it into the city without anyone noticing. On its shoulders were two massive missile battery's, each loaded with what he could guess were heat seekers. It's right hand was replaced with an artillery cannon, no doubt armed with uranium shells if they transporting the material in and out of the city. It's left hand was simply that, a robotic hand, but it was surrounded by rotating 50 Cal. Machine Guns. It was humanoid in at least design, with the head similar in design to the cockpit of a plane. Where the Revolutionists would have gotten the resource to build something like this was beyond Xander and most likely the Confederacy, who wouldn't know what was going on inside the Revolutionist Federation. Surrounding it seemed to be at least eighteen soldiers, each waiting for someone. That someone quickly made his presence known when he walked out in front of them.

"Gentlemen." He addressed them with some form of respect, rare in itself for them to show that sort of formality. "Welcome to the demonstration of the Prototype AF-567 War Machine AKA the All-Father." Xander recognized the commander: Arnold Ray, one of the main leaders of the Revolutionists and possibly one of the few men who knew exactly what Xander was in the Federation for. "Today you will see the full capability of the weapon we are certain will finally put an end to the Confederate advance." Since the fall of the Major, several different members of his succession wanted to take power into their own hands, each with their own agenda and means to reach it. This All-Father Machine seemed to be Ray's ace in the hole.

"Watch its destructive potential again that of a populated area." Ray declared. The entire Revolutionist Federation was almost cartoonishly evil as a nation, that scary thing was that when they were cartoonishly evil, people died, lots of them. Xander already feared that he knew what they were going to do, it didn't help when he saw a young child in the window of one of the buildings they were targeting.

"Don't do it." Xander muttered. There was nothing he could do to fight them and he could do even less to save the people in the buildings. Before he could blink, rockets lit the nights sky in a flutter of flames. Chunks of stone on the other side of the street began to fall from the foundations they had once been part of, crashing into the ground with a noise to rival thunder itself. Suddenly as the fires were burning and the building crumbled, the pilot of the mighty mech began to fire at the central supports of the makeshift building with depleted uranium shells. The structure melted away in a sea of green, as did several other buildings who were besieged by the same method. As everything crumbled away, survivors began to crawl out into the street hoping to avoid the firestorm, but this was when they were introduced to something previously hidden from view: Chemical Weapon Launchers on the back of the mechanized war machine. They fired with ruthless efficiency directly into the highest concentrations of people, releasing invisible clouds of the powerful toxin known Sarin Gas. It immobilized them in a cloud of choking and violent screaming, before the sweet relief of death came in the form of the All-Father's Machine Gun, sending rounds in the hundreds per second. In flashes of bright scarlet and flying white bone, bodies began to drop to the ground, where they would remain, unburied and forgotten, a display that sickened Xander to the stomach.

The display was met with a standing ovation from the soldiers gathered, who were now being made painfully clear to be high-ranking Revolutionist military leaders. Thank you. We have built this machine to be the most powerful, it's firepower only met with its armor, near impenetrable reinforced titanium lines this mighty vessel. Nothing can stand against us. Not even the Confederacy.

Obviously, the Revolutionists weren't well-informed of recent events, they obviously hadn't heard of what happened at the Third Battle for Hoover Dam, let alone the power of Project Alpha, the secret research and development division of the New Vegas Military, but there was no denying this machine could be a threat. However, Xander didn't have time to deal with it, he and Liam took off as they were distracted, holding their breath as they crossed the dissipating gas clouds. Soon enough they had made it out of sight and out of mind. This didn't ease either of their nerves though. If the federation had more of those, they could repel the Confederacy, dooming the people of the former NCR. Something no one was keen on letting happen.

* * *

It took them another hour or so to reach the place Liam had described but they made it. Xander was surprised what it was: The top of a ruined ten story building. Leviathan had been built on the ruins of an old world city, but they only inhabited a small part of it, and most of the buildings were made of old sheets of metal and shudders. This was one of the few ares that was inside the city borders, however, no one inhabited it, probably due to the general instability of the structure and the possibility of snipers on the inside. Liam's retreat consisted of a small portable mattress, a table with some rotten food on it, a terminal, and an empty Sniper Rifle, most likely to ward off entrance. Xander had noticed many of those empty sniper rifles on the way up, leading him to believe Liam had more experience in the art of stealth then he had been told. Then again, he had never actually been told anything.

He was right about one thing for sure: You could see everything from up there. The land of horrors below became a bit distant, making you almost believe everything was all right.

"This is my home." Liam spoke up.

Xander examined the building in the midnight gloom and was actually impressed that a child had amassed this much of a defense. Had he been allowed to trade, the Gun Runners would pay a pretty piece for the sniper rifles. "You're smart aren't you?" He asked rhetorically.

I do my best. Liam said, putting on his best confident expression.

"Tell me then. There was no reason for you to need me on the street, you obviously know how to avoid being captured or killed. Why bring me here?" Xander asked honestly this time.

Liam stood to the side and pointed at something resting on a ledge: a bird, glowing bright white in the moonlight. It looked up at him, it's familiar crimson eyes locked on him.

"It's not what he wanted." It crowed in english. Before it even spoke, Xander knew what he was dealing with.

"Mockingbird." He responded. He raised his Hunting Revolver without hesitation. "What do you want?"

"That is for me to know. I think a better question would be what YOU want Icarus, or should I call you Xander?" It asked with a fast-talking, thinly paced tone.

Xander was losing his patience as his finger became increasingly pressed on the trigger.

"I'll get right down to it then if you're going to be so impatient." The machine crowed with an irritation, wondering why Xander had no respect for dramatic presentation. "I know you're hunting Cato Maximilian, and I know where he is, but first you have to do something for me." Xander immediately holstered his weapon at that name, his muscles became even more tense, and his expression turned to one of a vengeful glare. The Mockingbird's tone turned to one of smug joy.

"The job is simple. When Franklin Beach lies dead in the dust, you will have your revenge. Any questions?"


	3. The Palace of Old Bones

Just a new chapter, adding some other things to the story, but nothing too amazing. Last Revolution has over taken Price of Defiance in the race to 10000 and looks like it's going to win in the next few days. So hurray for me.

I've also just gotten a new gaming PC. (Or will be receiving one shortly.) So if anyone got any good game recommendations it would be appreciated. (Nothing too obvious, and Indie Games if you can. Always should support the independent developers.)

* * *

CyberJordan: Very good analogy. Amaya's actions have led to this and now the last loose end will finally be tied. Eventually.

Oddliver: My thoughts exactly with the Zeta Fighters. However, nukes present a slightly more major problem.

Slovous: More or less because it's a story that wasn't originally supoose to exist nor do I have much faith when I start any story, but so far it's done well so I guess I'll hold on a little longer. Endeavor is a tricky case right now though, so stalled is actually an understatement.

Exile037: Okay... Thanks I guess.

* * *

Chapter 3

The Palace of Old Bones

Leviathan - Falcon Outpost Six

In the secret base of the Leviathan chapter of the Falcons, Frank Beach was busy at work. It had been exactly ten hours since the news that the weapon called All-Father had turned its weapons upon the streets of Leviathan in a sick demonstration of power, something that Beach didn't have time to deal with right now. He had already dispatched a regiment of the ever-growing resistance to head off the Confederates and warn them of the weapons hidden near Leviathan and in Lilith, something they wasted no time in setting out to do.

In his command room in the long since abandoned sewers of the city, where chemicals were constantly being flooded out into and radiation levels were high, the Falcon resistance flourished and thrived with Advanced Radiation and Hazmat Suits to survive the tough conditions. In locked off maintenance closets and rooms, families stowed away, the trickle of irradiated water and the crunch of rusted pipes the only entertainment they would have. Food drifted in during basic guerilla assaults, but despite the Falcon's vast network of logistics they Federation still out-numbered and out-gunned them. Very few veterans had the luck of coming back with only a few injuries, even fewer came back at all. That's why they operated in such small groups, why Beach was by himself in that cage, if one man went down, there wasn't much of a risk of losing anyone else or having their positions compromised.

Beach was sitting at an old maintenance terminal he used as a desk, its large base and structure mainly stripped down to scrap metal, the design similar to the M.A.R.G.O.T computer in the now abandoned Capital Wasteland. Strung across it were a series of maps and blueprints, all of which were there for one purpose: Retaking the now dead New California Republic.

"Sir." A voice called from behind. Beach turned from his focus and saw his second in command, Dexter McCoy, standing not far away.

"What is it?" He asked, having the irritated tone of a man who quite obviously did not want to be disturbed.

"We have a problem." He walked forward and placed an old clipboard on the terminal. McCoy was a tall man at almost seven feet, an elderly african-american at the age 74, missing both eyes, grayed hair, and deaf, but he was a fighter, a planner, and more importantly, one of the wisest and smartest men in the wastes. A unique mutation occurred within him, he was able to utilize all five senses without the use of the appendages that relayed the senses. Essentially, he could be missing his hands, tounge, eyes, ears, and all emotion and still be able to do everything a normal man could, save for maybe lifting anything without the use of his hands.

Beach examined the clipboard carefully, his hand gently moving the rotten paper over the back of the board. Photos were held gently in his other hand, his gaze falling upon a name on a sheet that made his blood boil with rage.

"What the hell is she doing here?" He demanded an answer from McCoy, who knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"We don't know." He eventually said. The photos were off a woman in her early thirties, armed with a Tri-Beam Laser Rifle and dressed in battered Combat Armor. The name he had spotted was actually a word: Lightning, an infamous enforcer for the Revolutionist Federation who had for the most part not been seen in Leviathan in some time. She had mainly been deployed to Vault City during the occupation, attempting to battle it out with open resistance movement there. When the Confederacy liberated it's former territories and began marching from two fronts, she retreated further into a town known as Hall. That town was burned to the ground in an assault by the Confederate Air Force, which was why Beach was having such a hard time believing she was still alive.

"Do you have any leads, any ideas?" He asked McCoy's unmoving features.

"Judging from the display made by that war machine last night, we'd guess it's to be take over as commander of the Revolutionist Military." McCoy's voice almost taunted Beach, who knew what this meant.

From what he said next, McCoy knew it as well. "I've already given the order. We're speeding up preparation for the offensive."

Beach looked at him. "Have our agent's reached the Confederate line?" He asked, his voice teeming with hope. Hope that was not misplaced.

"They have. Their armies are holding in there encampments. From what we've heard Confederacy High Command, there new council, has ordered all commanders to halt the advance and wait until they can find a way to prevent a strike."

That seemed like a large amount of information for simple rebels to be given, but he did not question McCoy's resourcefulness. "Then send word to our scouts. Tell them to inform the Confederates that we are working on a plan to deal with the threat."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Are we?" He asked, not seeing where he was going with this plan.

"No but after the offensive we're going to need a bargaining chip to maintain independence from New Vegas."

"But we require their resources for relief efforts. Threatening them would damage our own chances of securing those very resources."

Beach's expression remained unchanged along with his attitude. "I'm not saying we will threaten them. It's just in case they decide to occupy our territory, a last resort." Now his voice began to change into desperation. "I know we need allies, but allies don't make a difference if we don't have a nation for it."

Slowly McCoy understood. He looked on with respect. "Of course. I'll send word to the scouts." He left the room, leaving Frank Beach alone with his maps and schematics.

* * *

Revolutionist Control Base

Inside the castle of rusted iron that was the Revolutionist Capital Building, the entire staff was on alert. Arnold Ray's demonstration of the All-Father had shown his determination to defy the Confederacy and brought the rest of the Revolutionists into line. They were preparing to inaugurate him the new Major and security details were periodically patrolling the building. It was massive as a structure, standing at over seven stories and made completely of iron. The people who had gazed upon it always refered to it as the Palace of Old Bones as it had been built from the main foundation work and supports of Shady Sands. It's buildings had been stripped down to nothing, the people who once dwelled upon the sands were now burned and charred by the fires of war, there bodies practically plastered into the ground where they were so violenty cut down in a storm of bullets.

Within the actual structure of stone and iron, Lightning and Arnold Ray stood not far from the exit into the main chambers where he would make a speech. To be fair to the Federation, they could be formal at times but often enough it was just an excuse to call themselves a nation. Ray was dressed in an old suit of Salvaged Power Armor, his suit bearing the of the Revolutionist Federation: The skulls of a Bear and a Bull crossed over a burning Spade. That was what they had now anyway, it had once been different, but they changed it in the wake of the Major's death, who most of them believed had been caused by the Confederacy. None of them knew the truth, none of them knew about Supremacy One.

"Five minutes." Lightning said, her voice teeming with envy.

"I know." Ray responded, looking at his Salvaged Power Helmet. "You could at least try to hide your contempt Lightning."

She grunted. "It's hard when your only second best."

Ray had a smirk on his face. His brown eyes and tanned skin were reflecting off the dim haze cast by the light. "You had your opportunity, you chose not to take it. This is the price of that choice." He seemed to be almost glad to feel the hate of Lightning. It wouldn't surprise people if they found out he actually relished the hatred of others and knowing they could not fight him.

"That and you positioning me in Hall." Lightning responded with envy. "They were both interrupted by the sound of the metal doors shifting open in a crank of sparks and rusted screeches." They slowly walked through the threshold of iron and entered the large congress room, where at least two dozen military officers were gathered, each having their own definition of respect and their own definition of enthusiasm. As such, some cheered, some were silent, and others had their pistol in hand and finger on the trigger.

Ray stood up to a makeshift stage and microphone, his voice cleared and his throat moist with satisfaction as he knew that this was also being played across the Federation and probably being listened in on by the Confederacy.

"People of the Revolutionist Federation. I am Arnold Lee Ray, the new Supreme Leader of this glorious nation. As I stand here on this iron stage, a plague is sweeping across our lands. The New Vegas Confederacy, a nation built to wage war and destroy, has conquered and enslaved our brothers and sisters in the north and in the east. These foul dogs are led by the tyrant we all know as the Courier. An animal of a man who seeks to annihilate our very way of life as he did to our failed predecessor, the New California Republic. He murdered our leader and left us in a state of confusion that rendered us helpless against the onslaught that followed. Now I have come to our rescue with our ultimate weapon, the All-Father. It's killing power has been demonstrated and will crush the enemy underfoot, quite literally. We shall crash against the enemy like a hammer of righteous vengeance. A weapon of holy light that will cleanse the filth from this land. I assure you now, we will win!"

That last cry earned an applause from the room and a disheartening moan from the human soul. A moan that was quickly replaced by a golden ray of hope as something flew through the room in a cloud of faded red. It fell to the ground in front of the stage and began to cast the same faded red cloud across the room to the sound of choking and screaming.

"Evacuate the room, quickly!" Called Lightning, acting on her instincts and knowledge of the wasteland. If she was right this was the very same cloud that had once hung above the Sierra Madre and bathed the city in blood. Barely anyone heard her cry, she grabbed Arnold Ray and dove back through the iron doors, pressing the a button that sealed them with air tight locks as she and ray fell into the stone garage that it led to. The room beyond it had sealed, everyone still inside would die a horrible fate.

Lightning raced to remove the choking Ray's helmet but it was no use. The cloud had worked fast and the helmet and armor had been fused to his skin. He was still choking however and thinking quickly, Lightning grabbed a piece of lead piping and took a thrash at the helmet. The pipe clanked against the armor with a bang, breaking the eye slits, allowing the cloud to slowly escape. She moved out of the way of it, not having breathing gear and only wearing Combat Armor. She took another swing and this time heavily dented the helmet with her strength, which led to even more cloud escaping. Something else escaped too: Blood. It spewed forth from his face as he choked and coughed it up and pieces of shrapnel from the battered helmet cut through Ray's head.

With one final swing the helmet burst in a flutter of metal and red gas, releasing all the remaing cloud and letting him breathe. By this time proper medical staff had arrived and were preparing to tend to him. Lightning stood up from Ray, not seeing his condition, and prepared to find the attacker. It didn't take long as someone was dashing down the hall directly in her line of sight, dressed in a black jacket. She gave chase, running through the iron halls of the mainly circular building. The halls passed as a fleeting blur of blood stained metal and eventually gave way to the streets of Leviathan, buzzing with activity in a way similar to a swarm of flies feasting on the last crumb.

Lightning stopped for a moment, thinking her pursuit had failed, when suddenly someone appeared behind her, clutching a 9mm SMG and holding a Machete at her throat.

"Which would you prefer?" A male voice said from behind. Lightning's eyes fell upon the Machete as the SMG nudged her skin. Any escape route or help she could get was currently busy or missing.

"The Machete." She finally stated. "I'm sure the people would enjoy that." Her vision had caught sight of the approaching crowd of people who were insistent on seeing the federation bleed.

"Maybe." The voice responded. "But it's not what I want." There was a loud bang and Lightning began to feel blood running from her stomach and down her legs. Another bang went off and she collapsed as the voice's arms let go of her. Bleeding on stpes of cobbled stone, she looked up and saw the face of her attacker.

She didn't recognize him. It wasn't Frank Beach and they didn't match the Icarus character she had been hearing about. He had a rough and short beard and blast back hair that was untidy and covered in grime and filth. What was black turned to a sick brown and his scarred face told a thousand stories.

Stories she frankly wouldn't get a chance to hear.

He walked away, his Tribal Armor and Broad Machete reflecting in the sunlight. He entered the crowd and Lightning realized none of the would help her. Something she should have realized some time ago. She bled heavily as crimson rolled down cobble steps and began to seap into tainted soil, her thoughts began to turn to what had led to this point, where terrorists were the good guys and a nation was nothing more then an excuse for murderers to have power. Her vision blurred and as it did she realized something.

The man she had been pursuing had been wearing a black jacket, the man who just attacked her was not. She knew Icarus had been the man in a black jacket, but as one of the rare Revolutionist medics injected her with painkillers and placed her on a stretcher with bandages, she couldn't help but wonder who the attacker was. Who he had represented and what his motives were.

Then again, there were also just people like her. Those who took pleasure in suffering.


	4. Icarus, I presume?

This is not a long chapter and honestly I'm not sure it's a very good one, but read it if you want. Nothing's stopping you.

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Chazzen01: He won't return for some time, but thank you. I've never really felt that character development is a strong point of mine, so if I get compliments for it that's always good.

* * *

Chapter 4

Icarus, I presume?

Leviathan Supply Depot - Five days after attack on Revolutionist Control

On the east side of town, there lay a depot filled with munitions, weapons, and most importantly: Medical Supplies. It was heavily fortified and armed to the teeth with security. A platoon was always stationed there, not expecting anyone to be brave enough to try and take the depot. At least that's how it used to be, now with the Falcon attacks increasing in strength and brutality, they were always on alert. The depot was the size of castle and fortified to the same degree. Barbed wire decorated the walls, electrified for good measure, and towers armed with Machine Guns made of the toughest steel they could find. It was practically impenetrable and the soldiers on the inside were a force to be reckoned with.

Frank Beach was about to put those defenses to the test. In a rundown slum nearby a small team was armed with Laser Rifles and Recon Armor, supplies they had recovered from a long abandoned Brotherhood Supply Cache. Now it was being put to use to take back the very nation that had once tried to destroy them. Beach was at the head of the ten man unit. This would be classified as a suicide mission in any other situation, but for these men and women it was necessary. If they didn't claim those armaments they would face heavy casualties in the upcoming offensive.

"All right, the plan is this." Beach started, looking at the others gathered around him. "We're going to strike at the east wall with C-4, blasting a hole in the wall large enough to infiltrate the base. There are gas tanks in that area so it would act as the perfect cover. A simple tank exploded due to faulty design." He seemed confident of this plan but of course there was always a catch to confidence. "To do this without being seen is the problem. Two of you will act as snipers, who are the best shots here?" He watched as there was a small murmur among the Falcons, before two of them raised there hands. "All right, you'll have to shoot the machine gunners off the main towers on that side and will provide cover and pick off any other patrols that cross into the area. You will be doing this with Scoped Laser Rifles."

That statement caused another wave of murmurs. "That's a risky move sir." One of the soldiers declared directly speaking to Beach.

"It's the only way they won't find any bodies." Beach replied, his voice still confident. "Once were inside we'll activate our Stealth Boys and infiltrate the main complex. We can't waste them placing the explosives. If we could I wouldn't be posting snipers. At this point you are all authorized to engage the enemy in any way. We'll split up into groups and recover as much as we can from the base. Even if you have to drop your own weapons to carry it, you'll need to grab everything you can. We need what's inside for the offensive to work. The soldiers all seemed to understand. We move in ten minutes when the patrols shift. Be ready."

* * *

As it turned out, Frank Beach wasn't the only one with that idea. On the side walk near the north gate, Xander lay still, disguised as a mere begger on the opposite end of the street from the supply depot. Exactly what Xander was planning didn't make much since at the time. If this was where he was going to attack Beach, that would be a fairly bad idea seeing what he would have to contend with. Revolutionists and Falcons fighting each other always ended with a city on fire.

"Food for a beggar?" He asked as a patrol passed him.

They looked down at him with contempt. "Why should we help you worm?" One of them said. There were two of them, each dressed in Raider Armor.

"Because you can't help yourselves." He jumped forward without warning, knife in hand. He drove it through the temple of the first soldier and before the second one could react, he slashed his exposed throat with sickening slice. Blood poured onto the stone as Xander dragged the bodies into a nearby house, taking their equipment and using it himself. He was now a Revolutionist in all but attitude towards the less fortunate and the less sadistic.

He approached the gate as he could now look the part and entered without an issue. While the Revolutionist Army was deadly, it wasn't particularly regulated in any sense of the word. Most just assumed if they saw a new face that they had just been stationed in a different part of the country.

Once he stood past the main gate, he walked through the open courtyard area, littered with gas tanks and crates that had yet to be moved into the actual depot. He never raised his Hunting Revolver, something that may seem a bit strange to the Revolutionists. Not that they would take notice in a few moments.

Xander walked up to the main door and slipped in. Although he was expecting a quiet infiltration, the sound of an explosion to rival thunder quickly changed that. His head turned fast enough before the door shut to see that the gas tanks were now in flames, the towers that guarded the east wall had been consumed in a fireball, presumably along with the person inside. The wall was breached, something he knew could only be done from the outside with a focused explosion. That's when he saw them: Shimmers, crossing the breach's threshold without the slightest bit of difficulty, completely under the nose of the Revolutionists.

"Damn it." He muttered his voice low and tone deep. He quickly retreated as they came near the door, disappearing into the depot while the platoon scrambled to respond to the explosion. A few minutes later the door swung open again, this time with the Falcon's rushing past the iron grated door and passing directly into the dim corridors of the depot. There were three hallways to choose from, one that went straight, one that went left, and one that went right.

Beach motioned a team to the left and a team to go forward, while he went alone and without back up rushing down the right hallway. It was made of twisted metal and rotted wood like most other buildings in the city, but this one also was reinforced with stone bricks and carefully placed security measures. Beach maneuvered the labyrinth of stone for about three minutes before he came against his first obstacle: Two Sentry Bots that stood directly in his way, their massive machine guns presenting and issue. It certainly didn't help that they were designed to sense Stealth Radiation.

Unknown presence detected. Move to engage. One of them said with a chilling mechanical voice. It rolled down the hallway with a subtle humming. It made it about half way before a grenade flew from behind the corner of the hall and rocked the hall with a loud blast of shrapnel. The shockwave frenzied the machine, making it spout out words such as error and malfunction before being destroyed by the second machine in a storm of crisply damaged metal. Beach dove from cover in an almost bullet-time way and fired eight shots from duel wielded Plasma Pistols, there green bolts rushing down the hall, casting light into the darkest shadows. The bolts fused the machines ciciutry, frying several central function. It exploded violently when it attempted to fire a rocket.

Beach grunted at the display then jumped over the wreckage and continued to sprint down the hall. Eventually he came across a large metal door designed to withstand breaching explosives. He drew his weapons and opened the door, revealing what lay on the other side.

The All-Father.

Frank was shocked at what he was seeing. He hadn't seen it himself and the sight did not inspire anything then a paralyzing dread. The mech lay within a large hangar bay on a hydraulic platform, capable of lifting the machine to surface. He should have realized he had been going downwards along the way; it would rise through two large cement doors on the ceiling and allow it to begin enforcing the Revolutionist Reign of Terror.

He walked down some grated steps, his feet clanking against grated metal with an echo of emptyness and fear. He reached the bottom and gazed at the sight from the center of the room for what felt like an hour before a lone figure behind him spoke.

"Frank Beach." He said, his voice indisinquishably Xander's. "We meet at last." He continued trying to be dramatic, something the Courier would be proud of.

"Icarus, I presume?" Beach replied, having heard of this lone gunman for the last few weeks. His black coat was now back on and he could see the tattoo of a Sparrow on his arm. "I've been meaning to get in touch with you."

"And I you." Xander raised his Hunting Revolver with a firm crack of his wrist. "Now do me a favor. Please lie down and die."

Beach was startled but not enough that he didn't draw his Plasma Pistols. "What in the hell do you think your doing?"

"I'm hunting a murderer. A man by the name of Cato Maximillian." Beach's eyes widened at that name, almost as if he knew the person who that name belonged too. "If you die, I will be able to find him."

Before Beach could respond, they both were blinded by the lights in the room flickering on with a loud mechanical roar, before the sound of hydraulics powering up echoed through the halls of the base. They both turned to look at the All-Father. It was still no longer and the hydraulics began to lift into the dusk air, them along with it. Slowly they raised as someone took control of the All-Father and aimed it at them. When they approached the surface, it had begun to pour a radioactive rain. The fires were out and the sky was black with a sickly aura of fear and oppression. Nearby the Falcons who had inflitrated the base had been piled up. Each had fallen prey to Revolutionist trickery and perished in numerous gruesome ways. The platoon now surrounded them with weapons raised. The tension was almost graspable

"I'm afraid niether of you will get the oppurtunity to fight." The robot's speaker cried. The voice was undeniably Lightning's, who had somehow survived the earlier attack. "I'm also sorry to say that your lieutenant's orders will never reach your scouts. As we speak, we are flooding the sewers with mustard gas, capable of killing everyone inside. The Falcon resistance is over, we have won."

"Now do as your friend said earlier, Franklin. Lie down and Die."


	5. The Fuse is Lit

New Chapter, probably the third or second to last. Like I said this is going to be a short one. It hasn't found many new readers but I wasn't expecting it to. Hope those who have read it will enjoy the final few parts of it. Read and Enjoy!

* * *

CyberJordan: Yes she should have and thank you for that. I didn't know if I was portraying what I wanted to portray correctly, but while I won't go into it in this, that was the basic idea. A Federation of scum and villainy that only existed to combat the Confederacy and when it was done, watch the wasteland reclaim both nations. Even there super-weapons are salvaged from the old world.

Oddliver: Sort of.

Guest (Slovous I assume?): I did not get it from Final Fantasy, I have something against that franchise when I tried to play the most recent one and the game quietly crashed on the opening menu every time I tried to start it. Thank you for the compliment though.

Exile037: She didn't. I don't explain it much, but essentially the Revolutionists found it. Arnold Ray lied when he said they could build more, he salvaged it from an old armory. I'll make a mention of it next chapter but it will be a fly-by explanation.

* * *

Chapter 5

The Fuse is Lit

Beach and Xander did not have much hope of escaping this situation. They were not armed for a fight with both the All-Father and the Revolutionist Military. They were barely armed to fight a squadron of forces, even with their skills as fighters. Even so they were willing to fight to the death, lowly they aimed their weapons at the All-Father, defiance and belief in their eyes, their personal hate forgotten for a minute.

"Really? One last stand?" Lightning taunted. "Well if you insist..." She prepared to fire her missiles and end the internal threat to the Revolutionists, when they were all taken by surprise by an unexpected event. For one second they were all ready to kill each other, then a second later, a missile sped by everyone's unblinking eyes and exploded with a violent flash of blinding light, destabilizing the prototype super-weapon. Lightning shielded her eyes from within her mech. Suddenly, bits of metal stained with crimson blood and dry bone flew into the air, pelting the ground with a patter of sickening sounds drowned out by the cry of a semi-automatic Sniper Rifle.

For a moment, each and Xander were struck still by these developments, before they entered the fray guns blazing. The deafening bang of a Hunting Revolver and the splash of Plasma melting through flesh and steel in a green stain. There was a crash of thunder as another missile crashed against the iron hull of the massive mechanized war machine, denting it heavily. Beach glanced around as he fired his Plasma Pistols, scanning the area frantically for whoever was attacking the Revolutionists, but between the rain and the blood, it was hard to get a solid grasp on the situation.

The All-Father began to slowly regain its footing and began searching for its attacker. Lightning angrily moved the war machine as she couldn't make out the images of either of her targets in the crowd of bullets below. Then a missile raced by the cockpit, this time missing its intended target and putting a decent sized hole in the wall of the supply depot. Quickly she reacted and moved the All-Father into a position where it could see the attacker, and much to both her dismay and sadistic joy, it was the very same individual who had attacked her on the steps of the Revolutionist Capital. His tribal raiding armor shine through its rust as radioactive water splashed against it. He drew his Broad Machete, despite no one being near him, threw away the missile launcher, then dove from the perch he had used to fire rockets. He raced down the depot courtyard, weapon raised, as the All-Father got a lock on him. It fired a volley of missiles in his general direction, just hoping to hit somewhere remotely close to him, but he took cover at the last second, using a piece of metal that had once been a part of the gas tank as a blast shield. Miraculously that worked, he took a few bad scrapes and scratches, but nothing life threatening. He once again was moving, this time at an almost inhuman pace. Within seconds, he crossed the courtyard, catching Xander's eye as he ran straight up to the foot of the machine.

"What the hell is he doing?" Xander asked aloud to no one in particular. His voice echoed but was nothing more than a muffled screech in a shroud of gunfire and dying screams. Beach heard him though and glanced over just in time to watch something incredible.

The assailant jumped on top of the machines gigantic foot, before slowly climbing to the joint where the upper and lower sections of the leg met. He drew his Machete and without hesitation or difficulty, cut through the titanium armor like paper, barely even scratching the machete. Sparks fluttered into a moist air with a haunting glare, resembling the sun flashing on and off for about a minute. This was quickly interrupted by the assailant, who dove up as the All-Father kneeled down and landed on the chemical launchers. With a deep breath and closed eyes, he tore through those as well, releasing the gas. He quickly cut what was holding them in position and watched as they fell into the soldiers below. Beach and Xander dove out-of-the-way in time but the platoon was choking and bleeding before they could even scream. Even this did not slow down the attacker, he went after his deceptively simple target, the missiles. For this however he would not use the machete. He jumped onto the left shoulder missile battery, then threw a grenade into it. With one final burst of strength he dove from the shoulder and onto the ground, watching with an emotionless dead stare as the mechanized infantry exploded in an inferno of burning artillery.

The final soldiers fell dead and from the wreckage, the sounds of something stirring could be heard. Slowly, Lightning pulled herself from the ashes and slumped over onto the cold broken stone below. She crawled for a few seconds, looked up at her enemy, then died from her wounds. This time without any chance of survival.

"Should have used the knife." Her killer muttered. He turned towards a stunned Frank Beach and Alexander Nicholas. "I know you have questions for me, but I think it would be better to ask when were out of a major military base."

Beach nodded and felt a swift horror run up his spine when he remembered what Lightning said about the Falcons. He took off like a rocket, Icarus and the unknown man in close pursuit.

* * *

They reached the sewer entrance in time to see that the Revolutionists were entering. Bullets raced across the air in an instant, leaving the metal armored Revolutionists with several holes in them and lying in blood. They raced down the sewer entrance latter, grabbing and equipping gas masks as they did. There eyes began to burn and water as they descended into the dried tunnels, the air thick with a yellowish haze. It became clear quickly that the gas had been at least partly effective as they passed at least a dozen bodies, each lying with fresh blood leaking from their mouths with pieces of charred lung. They stopped for a moment to look at the spectacle but the thunder of gunfire in the distant tunnel led them to continue searching. They came across three more Revolutionists engaged in a firefight with several Falcons who were wearing airtight Radiation Suits at the other end of the tunnel. Lasers crossed paths with Hollow-Point Bullets as the Falcons opened fire with their salvaged energy weapons. One of them went down as a bullet cut open the radiation suit, exposing them to the gas. Before the Revolutionists could advance to finish the squad off, Plasma and 40-50 Gov`t entered and exited their brains in a vibrant gush of gory red. The Falcons were relieved to see their leader alive but were also met with confusion as they eyed Icarus and had there weapons remaining raised as the unknown man passed by. They followed them all regardless of trust or sanity as they ran into the main sewer and began joining the fray as they came across organized death squads and became embroiled in at least a dozen firefight.

The echo of gunfire drowned out all hearing and sound when it kicked into high gear. All of them were practically breathing bullets as two death squads of at least six men a piece, each dressed in an almost cartoonish black painted power armor and wielding LMG's that roared with the sound of an extended magazine being emptied onto the floor in a sea of endless casings, taking lives as some of the bullets began to ricochet off the walls in a crazed frenzy of tracers flashing in front of everyone's eyes before entering several of them with a stomach wrenching splat of scarlet against stone. Heads split into dozens of small pieces, arms and legs were shattered and fractured with a crack that deafeningly echoed across the tunnel. Xander fired off three shots that hit a perfect weak spot in the T-45d Power Armor: An almost microscopic spot in the upper left corner of the right eye. The eyepiece was never created perfectly, despite being bulletproof, and a well placed shot could cause a shrapnel to bounce around in the helmet with a humorous noise that quickly vanished in a screech of infinite pain. Blood began to leak from every spot of members of the death squad pouring into the stone below before the body collapsed to the ground.

The Unknown man quickly proved himself no stranger to firefights, not that it was a surprise from his display at the supply depot. He drew a Single Shotgun, basic and sturdy, and began opening fire with confidence, a hunter's aim, and powerful reflexes. Beach both shot and watched as the man walked forward towards the LMG bullet storm, taking what he could have sworn was at least ten dozen rounds to the chest, bleeding at least a gallon of blood, and just kept going. Eventually he got close enough to cap a man in the helmet before taking going on a killing spree with the Broad Machete. It cut through the armor without difficulty and caught some fresh strips of flesh on its blade as blood flew through the air with an almost haunting gore. Not one of the death squad soldiers survived, most didn't even have a face when it was done. Slowly, Beach and the Falcons walked forward, a mix of curiosity and terror in their hearts. Xander didn't pay attention to it, he didn't much care about any of this, he only followed them because the Revolutionist Federation had an army of savages at its disposal and he didn't want to be around when they arrived to find their general dead and realize that power could be taken for themselves.

Beach slowly walked past the unknown man, shooting him a glance that practically spoke the words "We need to talk" before slowly opening the doors that the Death Squads were trying to enter. It opened as he used his own key and the gas had dispersed enough that it would not prove lethal. Relief rushed through his soul as he entered the room, revealing the majority of civilian families that were in the care of the Falcons inside, Dexter McCoy leading them along with the surviving members of the Leviathan Chapter.

"Thank god you are all okay." He said, his voice sincere and loving. Two small boys walked up to him, clutching his legs in relief.

"Our scouts went dark. It wasn't hard to figure out what happened. I grabbed everyone I could and brought them in here." McCoy explained. "I didn't expect the gas though." He seemed to go grim. "I gave the order for the soldiers to combat the enemy. They died on my watch."

Beach walked over to the old man. "No. They died on my watch. I should have realized something was wrong. I should have..." He didn't continue realizing that it wasn't necessary. "How many were out here? We only passed a few bodies of ours."

"Eighteen soldiers and twelve civilians. At least that's how many are unaccounted for." McCoy seemed to lighten up a little. "I suppose it could have been worse."

"It is." The unknown man declared. "It is worse than you could understand. The Revolutionists most likely believe you are dead, which means they think it's safe to make their next move."

McCoy twisted his head toward the unknown man. "Who is that?" McCoy asked.

"Allow me to answer that." He responded to the question. "My name is Andrew Daniels. I'm..." He hesitated with his next words in an obvious display of withholding information. "I'm a drifter to say the least. I've seen many places in the world and it has led me here. Rather, a job led me here."

"What job?" Beach asked, his voice showing that he no longer was willing to wait for an answer.

"A job to help you stop a nuclear attack."

Xander, who had been slowly reaching for his pistol, withdrew his hand. "Nuclear attack on where?" He asked, his beard looking slightly grayed.

"New Vegas. The Revolutionists are going to attempt an attack on the city. There hoping to break the Courier's spirit and body."

"Seems like a load-bearing scheme." Beach chimed.

"It is. Especially when the Courier hasn't been seen or heard from in about two months." That seemed to take the entire room by surprise.

"He's missing?" Xander asked, seemingly asking with a genuine concern and slight horror.

Andrew nodded. "Gone with the wind. He established Confederate High Command and installed the first official Archon then disappeared. No one knows why." He gave off a slight "Ha". "I guess when your wife and brother in arms dies on your watch, that would be a good excuse to leave."

Xander fell still, his muscles stiffened, his body froze. He hadn't been very in touch with anything occurring outside of the Federation for the last few months, so this was new and tragic news to him, as well as the fact that he now was putting together what Mockingbird had planned for him. Andrew didn't seem to much care though and continued to explain the situation. "Back to the situation at hand. The nuclear missiles are in two active silos on the outside of the city. With the only resistance force that could stop them believed dead," He pointed at them as if to say if something goes wrong it's your fault not mine then continued, "They will think that a launch is now a safe bet. Essentially, if we don't act quickly, the Revolutionists will destroy Vegas and leave us in this hell."

That was something Beach did not want to see. "Do you have a way in to the silos?" Andrew eyed him with surprise. "You wouldn't come here and tell us otherwise. Which also probably means your pay is quite high."

Andrew smiled. "Quite high indeed. Yes I have a route in." His expression turned grim. But we'll need a distraction. "Something to prevent a full-scale military response."

Beach and McCoy shared a quick glance and nod that quickly lead to a smile. "I have something like that..."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, all the radios in the Revolutionist Federation were overrun with this transmission.

"People of this once proud nation. This is the Falcon speaking over these corrupt and savage channels. The time is now, people are starving in the street, dying on the sidewalk, shot in their own homes and left to die by our corrupt and violent government. They are tyrannical and vicious, desecrating the very name of California. We will stand for it no longer! The fuse is lit! Rise up, tear the Revolutionists from their throne, and take back California!"

Without even a moment wasted, the entire state echoed with clanking metal and dust filled the air. For the first time in years, freedom was in reach of the New California Republic.


	6. Overthrown

I'm sure it shows at one point, so I'll say it now I kind of lost interest in writing this so if it seems to lose detail or feels rushed, that's why. This is the second to last chapter though so I decided to push on.

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CyberJordan: As I said above, this one kind of falls short, but I will hint that you're going to want to hold on for the final chapter.

Oddliver: Well this chapter falls short, trust me, but it was either post a rather lackluster finale or not post it all due to losing personal interest. Hands tied.

Exile037: Not likely, I'll say that.

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Chapter 6

Overthrown

The Falcons took to the streets with a vengeful fury as the Revolutionist Federation began to burn. They began fighting organized firefights with the Revolutionists on almost every street in not just Leviathan but the entire nation as the people were inspired to rise up or die trying. Smoke and dust were kicked up into the air as the Falcons led a revolution of their own. Civilians rioted through the smoke and the bullets, taking up whatever weapons they had against their oppressors. They threw stones, nails, and glass at the regimes army before taking the fight to a mêlée distance with wooden boards and stone bricks for close engagements. The roar of machine gun fire echoed for miles as the Revolutionist Military began one last stand.

Andrew, Beach, and Xander appeared from the dry and lifeless sewers to emerge into a sea of fire. The world had gone to hell in less than half an hour, just the right amount of time for them to put their own plan into action. They burst forth like a coiled spring and arrived on a dusty street that was being pelted in bullets as a firefight raged between Falcons and Revolutionists at opposite ends of the street. The Revolutionists sadly controlled the end they needed to reach but it was not too much of an inconvenience. They threw themselves into the fray, rapidly pressing the triggers on their weapons with the roar of gunfire drowning out the battle cries of the Falcon resistance. At the far left street corner bodies began to drop to the cement as a river of crimson leaked out from the holes in their chests and into the cold stone streets. A rocket, presumably one fired by the Revolutionists that had gone off course, smashed into the ruin that jutted forth from the street corner in a cloud of grey. Rubble tumbled downwards, killing several of the Revolutionists before they began to pull back. The Falcons wasted no time with a victory celebration and pushed forward under a hail of bullets still being fired from the other side of the intersection at the end of the street. While the Falcons pushed forward, the strike team pushed east, northeast specifically, and now had a straight shot to the missile silos. Straight of course meaning a seemingly endless and demoralizing push through dozens of firefights between grey smoke and devastated structures that clouded their vision and damaged their minds in a twisted decent into a seemingly everlasting darkness. This much was true of war.

With several Falcon fireteams taking up the rear they made a push down the decimated street with weapons raised as the smoke and the dust filled there lungs and clouded their vision. Bullets flew off in all direction and began cutting men and women to shreds as the Falcons began the final offensive. Andrew took up the lead with Beach and Xander not far behind him, the conviction in this act unwavering and undying. All around them fires were burning upon the tainted Earth as they cut down Revolutionists by the dozen in there quest towards the missiles. Bodies were cut to pieces by machetes, bullets, energy, and everything in between. Eventually after a dedicated push they managed to reach the northeastern gate, only to find a nasty surprise before them. They were just about past the threshold of the gate when they began to hear something in the distance: A high-pitched squeal. Like the sound of a whistle intensified to a unpreicdented level. They looked to the sky, eyes locked on a large cluster of at least six dozen objects racing towards them. It wasn't until they began to crash against the city that any of them realized what was happening.

They were being bombarded by artillery from the desert. The Confederacy had stopped waiting and were making a push to reclaim the NCR. In the distance, great columns of smoke were rising into the midday sky as the uprising spread across California. People screamed and ran as the city was pummeled into dust. The team was tossed around like ragdolls. Each went flying in separate directions, Andrew came to rest upon sand, Beach fell into the road, and Xander was blown into a nearby ruin and felt his arm pop out of its socket with a sound that could have just as easily been mistaken for a balloon popping on a windy day. Even that was drowned out by the screaming and bellowing of the city as shells continued to rain down.

Beach jumped to his feet. "God damn it! No!" He screamed with a bellowing yell. No one heard him. A few moments later, the artillery stopped, and the entire city was nothing but dust once more. Everyone was dead; the silence of their graves began to spread. They could hear the entire nation beginning to quiet with even more smoke spreading into the sky.

Andrew stood up and approached Beach while Xander slumped over to them. With a forceful push, he popped his arm back in its socket, letting out a pained crow as he did.

"Beach there's no time to mourn, we need to move!" He yelled. hoping that the rebel would see reason.

This of course was wishful thinking as Beach turned on a dime to look at Andrew. "You!" He screamed. "You knew this would happen!"

"What?!" Andrew replied with a fearful expression.

"You knew! I can see it in your eyes. You knew they were going to pulverize the city. You knew!" He kept screaming that over and over. They had just saved the entire Falcon resistance only for them to die in a single strike by what they believed were their saviors.

"Frank I didn't know about any of this! My employers-" His moderately light voice was silenced by a burst of assault rifle fire chipping away at the gravel road below them. Several more round hit before the team jumped into cover behind debris. Andrew peaked overhead from behind a pile of tires while Xander and Beach had hidden behind a turned over car and a fallen concrete pillar . There was a squad of seven men approaching from the direction of the artillery but Xander was the only one who seemed to notice something.

They weren't from the Confederacy. They were dressed in what appeared to be Vault Security Armor with a Security Helmet to match but at the same time they had pieces of Salvaged Power Armor creating a frame around the suit of armor as well as a patch on the arm. The patch consisted of a vault door with two spears crossed over it. One other thing seemed to blare out at Xander: the number on both the patch and the armor. Something he could certainly never forget.

13

The seven men stopped a few feet from the gate and raised weapons. "In the name of the Arroyo Alliance you are ordered to stand down and surrender yourselves. You have thirty seconds to respond."

"Arroyo Alliance?" Andrew muttered. He had never heard of these people as he himself had been born far east, not far away from the Capital Wasteland actually. Not much left there now.

Before the men could continue to count down, an explosion rocked the Earth as a huge plume of molten smoke filled the air with glowing ember and crisp ash. Another similar event followed and the sky darkened as the two fireballs flew off in separate directions across the dusty skies.

"What in the world?" The soldiers got those words out before a hail of bullets struck them down in a gush of crimson blood that painted the road red. The bodies slumped to the grown with a lifeless grunt before Andrew and company could even fire one shot at the soldiers. Beach looked over his cover, scanning the area with caution before he eventually had his eyes settle on the attacker: a man clad in power armor at the other end of the road and wielding a Minigun. He opened fire again with a furious roar of gunfire that crashed with a clatter of steel against the pavement at Andrew's feet. Andrew raised his shotgun as he hopped around the ricocheting bullets that were cutting into his feet.

"Andrew Daniels!" The power armored man yelled. "You're the man who attacked the Revolutionist Command! You're the one who threw the Cloud!" Andrew said nothing.

Arnold! Xander yelled, diving from cover and opening fire.

The bullets bounced off the power armor without a dent. "Ah, Icarus." The voice was now distinguishably Arnold Ray's and it sounded furious. "I knew you were involved in this. I can only assume Frank Beach is behind that stone. Well you're too late to stop the launch, the missiles are in bound to Arroyo and New Vegas. Soon enough, the Major's dream will be fulfilled." He could hear Beach's audibly sighing behind the rocks. "Well, I'd hate to make this day any worse for you and your beliefs but I think our friend Icarus should be told the truth, wouldn't you say Cato?" That name drew Xander's attention without hesitation.

Don't listen to him. Beach muttered, knowing what he was going to say.

You didn't know did you? Ray asked Xander. NCR rebel leader Frank Beach and Legion oppressor Cato Maximilian are the same person. Did Mockingbird fail to mention that? Xander stopped listening and slowly turned to look at Beach who was emerging from cover, just in time for Andrew to dodge another few rounds from Ray, who focused in on him.

Don't spoil the moment. Ray said, watching with sadistic delight as Xander dragged himself closer to Beach. Before he could do anything, Xander jumped forward with the prowess of a tiger and tackled him to the artillery scarred ground.

"You bastard!" He yelled. He threw a fury of punches at Frank's skull, cracking it with a sickening squeal. "You murdered my family! You murdered my friends!" He kept punching and thrashing before he picked him up by the neck collar, blood spilling onto his hands from Frank's nose and mouth, covering Xander's already blood stained knuckles. He drew out a knife and took three stabs, one in the upper chest, one in the lower chest, and one right in shoulder.

Xander's face was a stream of tears and hate, red and blue from his screaming. "Anything left to say?" Before any response could come, Andrew drew his own weapon and on reflex aimed for the head. A bullet traveled through the air without a sound, seconds later implanting itself in Xander's neck, killing him instantly with a spray of blood. His collapsed and dropped Beach, leaving only Ray to deal with.

In the confusion, Andrew pounced forward with his Broad Machete in a fit of rage. He tacked the Power Armored giant to the pavement and drove the blade between the tyrants eyes, killing him instantly, but he didn't stop there. With all his strength he continued to stab, tearing straight through the armor with all his strength. He cut and slashed at his throat and wrist before he was done, and watched every inch of blood leak into the cracks in the road. He stood up and watched as the missiles left sight, believing they had failed, when all of the sudden the sky was lit ablaze in a shining light. Both missiles exploded with an amazing display of fire and fury as shockwaves crashed against the ground with a great bellowing boom. The lights went out as smoke descended from the explosions and Andrew walked back towards where Beach lay. He had already bled to death but his eyes were pointed right at where Andrew was standing, longing for forgiveness and perhaps some form of freedom. Whether or not what Arnold had said was true was something best left to history, but regardless of his past, the world had lost a good man today.

As Vertibirds began to climb on the horizon, investigating the missiles and where they had exploded, something else descended towards Andrew. It landed on his wrist, a piece of paper in it's mouth.

It was a carrier pigeon, a robotic carrier pigeon, but it was still a carrier pigeon. It dropped the note and flew away, no doubt back to the same person responsible for the Mockingbird. Andrew unfolded the note, carefully read the contents, placed it in his pocket, and began walking towards the coast. It said one thing.

"Meet me at the coast, your task is done, it is time to witness the future."

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**I know that wasn't any Last Revolution finale but in the time I was writing this chapter, I had to go to a funeral and visit relatives among other things, so by the time I got back to writing it, I lost interest, seeing as during the free time I had, I was writing Endeavor, my other story. However, I am making a promise that the final chapter, the epilogue if you will, you're going to want to read. It has something in it that may grab people's attention, so just stay with me for that.**


	7. When the Future Began

Final chapter, little hints at what I'm going to do next scattered about, It's far better then the last chapter hopefully, and before anyone keeps saying that I'm too hard on myself, I genuinely thought the last chapter was sub-par. Not as horrible as I led on, but still. Oh and for anyone that thinks I'm going to get a little more light-hearted in terms of story tone, no. Anything I write will mainly be a tale of tragedy and a bit of dry humor every now and again. So with no small degree of irony, Read and Enjoy!

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Chazzen01: I know I lead things on to be a little worse, but at the time I genuinely thought I was going to get some pretty bad response to it, I guess I don't really think about the readers I have when I post things, how supportive you've all been in the past, so I apologize for that. As for the ending, there's a reason I didn't end there: because I've got some plans.

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Chapter 7

When the Future Began

Andrew walked for about an hour before he reached the California Coastline, all the while listening to the sounds of a recovering nation behind him. The Arroyo Alliance's bombardment had been an attempt to wipe away what remained of the Revolutionist Leadership and for all intents and purposes they were successful, albeit not at all regretful for the innocent lives lost in the fires. The Confederacy had begun to fly in relief efforts across the shattered nation, contacting the Alliance, to coordinate active recovery efforts.

Andrew's biggest obstacle at this point was descending a series of war-ravaged cliffs that now decorated the entire coastline, great pillars of debris and damage that now brought heartache to those who yearned for peace in this world. He climbed down a series of steeping stone-like pillars that allowed him to make it down to the sands below, pressing his tribal boots against the sand with a hollow imprint of a man who now was walking towards his goal. When he looked back at his journey from here, he wondered if his choices were wroth it. From the start, he had lied and cheated his allies even before they were allies, having anonymously tipped off Xander that Cato Maximilian was inside the Revolutionist Federation and lying to Beach about why he was here when his actual goal was simple: End the Falcon resistance. They wouldn't know it, but several members of the NCR had survived the Revolutionist Uprising and the Confederacy and Alliance wanted them in power. Even now, Andrew could imagine the officials leaving there hiding places to form there new NCR, a Third California Republic so to say.

His goal originally was to kill Beach, but knowing that there was more at stake he ignored that goal. Now he regretted that as it had all been for nothing anyway, he already knew what stopped the missiles from hitting there targets: the targets themselves, one of which was armed with a series of devices that were designed to stop missiles at a range even before the war. Beach was dead, Xander was dead, and now the bureaucracy was returning in all it's failed vanity, all in the name of the agendas of men who will bring the human race to another Great War. Something he wasn't keen on letting happen.

It was another half hour before he stumbled onto his contact, sitting on the beach watching a young child running around on the beach, playfully laughing as the child dashed in circles with a small model plane.

He walked up behind his contact who was wearing a hooded robe that hid their face. "Mockingbird?" He asked.

The hooded figure turned slightly, then looked at the child, who walked over to them. "Violet," Mockingbird said with a distinctly female voice in strict contrast to her birds. "How about you go swimming for a while? I have something I need to do."

The young girl, dressed in a wasteland settler outfit, nodded with joy, put down the model plane, and ran out into the ocean with a careful run before swimming around on the beachhead. The girl was no older then 4 but it also seemed that she wasn't in much danger so in the meantime, Andrew sat down next to the woman he presumed was Mockingbird. Her hood was still on over her head and she point blank refused to lower it until he answered three questions.

"Is Frank Beach dead?" She asked, the same question that would have been asked of Xander.

"Yes." Andrew replied with an uneasy tone. Her next question pretty much spelled out why she had given Xander the option to kill Beach.

"Is Xander Nicholas dead?"

"Yes." His reply far less grim then the first. The final question was the hardest and most tricky to answer, because it scared him to answer one way or the other.

"Did you kill them without remorse?" She asked with a very firm voice, almost heartless.

Andrew hesitated to respond at all, he almost quivered as she asked it. Finally he said one word: "No."

She turned to look at him for a second, her emerald eyes gleaming in the darkness of her hood as the sun began to set in the distance, then smiled. She slowly removed her hood, releasing it to the back of her neck, ultimately revealing her identity.

The Mockingbird was none other the Katrina Hollister.

"Good." She said. "Proves there's still some humanity left in you." She pulled out a satchel of at least twelve syringes and passed it over to Andrew, who took it with shaking hands. "That should halt the mutations for at least a year. Take one a month and you should be fine." Katrina declared, eyeing Andrew's hands as he pulled a syringe out of the satchel, it's contents glowing a neon blue like the power cells of a Zeta Weapon. Slowly and carefully Andrew removed his left gauntlet, revealing a mutated and swollen arm, green and huge like a super-mutant with the mutation slowly creeping out into his flesh. With a powerful thrust, he drove the injection into his veins, and slowly but surely the mutations seemed to retreat before vanishing. Andrew's arm looked like a normal human arm again, something Katrina was quite interested in.

"How long have you had that? The FEV?" Katrina asked, knowing what the virus was and would do to him eventually.

Andrew looked at her. "Nine years. I got it out in the Capital Wasteland while trapped in an old research lab. It's the reason I left: I wanted a cure." Andrew said tearfully.

"I see." Katrina said that and then looked back towards Violet, who was happily swimming around in the water. Andrew looked towards the young girl as well, squinting and reaching for a pair of glasses in his pockets now that the FEV had been partially expelled from his body.

"She's a beautiful child. How old?" He asked, already having an idea.

"She's four and she's not mine." Katrina declared. "She was my ex-fiancé's."

"What happened to him?" Andrew asked, having genuine concern.

"Her." Katrina corrected Andrew with a fixed cross look on her face. Andrew fell silent, feeling embarrassed about his presumptions, but Katrina didn't seem to hold it against him for very long, because a few seconds later she dropped her expression and answered his question. "She died during an attack by remnants of the Enclave. I never got the chance to say goodbye." Katrina began to tear up a little before regaining her composure. "I never forgot her last words." Katrina said quietly.

"What were they?" Andrew asked.

Katrina looked at him. "For the love of god stop crying." There was a long pause between the two after that, with Andrew unable to speak again.

After some time, as Violet began to come out of the ocean from her swim, Andrew stood up. "I guess it's time for me to leave."

"Yes I suppose it is..." Katrina paused for a moment as Andrew began to walk away out of a flare for the dramatic. "...unless you want to hear my offer."

Andrew turned around to look at her. "What offer?"

"An offer for a job."

"I'm not doing your wetwork again." Andrew defiantly declared.

"No not something like that, it's a more permanent position." She stood up as Violet came near and threw a clipboard towards him. "Full payment as well as lifetime treatments for your FEV condition. You'll be fulfilling the role of Keeper, a job I had until very recently. Most of your jobs will be keeping records, conducting interviews and other things like that. Basically, you'll be my employers source of information, the scout, the informant, it's a luxurious position to be sure, trust me. Don't worry about the credibility of the offer, my employers keep to their word."

"Right." Andrew said skeptically as he read through the pages. "And who are your employers?"

Katrina smiled. "Some things are best left unsaid."

"Ah." He grunted. It took him a while to give her an answer. "Alright Katrina, I'll do it, but in addition to this payment I need one other thing."

"Oh? What is that?"

"The truth. Tell me what happened to the Courier."

Katrina's smile faded and she now looked grim and almost depressed. Violet tugged on Katrina's hand, the young girl's tiny fingers tickling her skin.

"Andrew, I've come to know many things in my time, but the whereabouts of my brother are lost to everyone. I don't know where he's gone, I don't know what he's going to do, but what I do know is why he left. It's a truth that will always haunt me."

"And what is that?"

"That he has nothing left to live for." There was a long pause between the two of them before Katrina put up her hood again. "Goodbye Andrew. Get some rest, you've certainly earned it." Katrina walked away holding her adopted daughter's hand as they walked along the shore. Andrew flipped over a few pages on the clipboard then looked up to find that Katrina had vanished. He put the clipboard in his inventory and walked in the other direction, not noticing a small photo that had slipped out of the clipboard, something Katrina clearly forgot to take out.

It was an old faded photograph of her and John from when they were children, both of them dressed in young brotherhood scribe outfits, hands behind each other's back as with a slightly taller child standing alone on the left dressed in Recon Armor and two adults, one male and one female who were dressed in Power Armor. It was a Brotherhood of Steel family, more specifically John's family. On the back was a message, written in a hurry and stained with tears that practically screamed sorrows.

"John, you once asked me who our family was, I don't know if you still want an answer, but here it is. I know you don't remember them, but this is our family. You and I are the shortest, our older brother Solomon is on the left, and our parents, Damien and Anna Hollister, are in the back. Our family has ties to the founders of the Brotherhood, but when our parent's had us, they tried to raise us away from all the conflict. Solomon refused to leave and stayed behind to become a paladin, while we fled into the still fledgling NCR. I don't care if this still matters to you, but I want you to know I'm still your sister, and still your friend. If you ever need to talk to me, about Cass, about Leon, about the war, you know where I'll be. With all my love, Katrina."

The photo lay there in the sand for a time before the wind picked it up and carried it away to the sky, never to be seen again. An almost chilling parallel to death.


End file.
